


Metamorphosis

by Patomac



Series: Writer's Month 2020 [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dresses, Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25907401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patomac/pseuds/Patomac
Summary: Callie accepts Elidis' bargain and transforms into the upstanding heir she's meant to be.
Series: Writer's Month 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862173
Kudos: 3
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> For Writer's Month 2020: Metamorphosis

The sun was nestled among the trees by the time I emerged from the bath. My skin was bright pink and sensitive to the touch, but it smelled like violets.

I dressed in a bathrobe and returned to my suite. The balcony door was flung wide, letting in the cool spring breezes, and I sat in the soft chair. Daylight faded to dusk as my hair dried around my shoulders. The breeze twisted it into messy, out of order waves.

When the last of the light was gone, I stood up. The clothing Elidis had selected for me was laid out on my bed. I’d been avoiding looking at it, but now, it seemed I had no choice.

Dresses on Rahimiri often came in two parts: a long, voluminous skirt, and a much more tightly fitted bodice. This dress was no exception. The skirt would reach my midcalf. The bodice would wrap around my breasts and back in a few artful crosses, leaving a large swath of my midriff completely bare.

I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be comfortable showing quite this much skin. I’d spent most of my life in one jumpsuit or coverall after another, digging around in the bowels of ships. Rolling up my sleeves to my elbows was about as much skin as I showed on a typical day, and sometimes even that put me in danger of a nasty chemical burn. Clothes were protection. Safety. Anonymity.

There was no way I’d be anonymous in this dress.

I bit my lip and picked it up. The fabric felt like a dream. In some respects, it was a dream—in the low-tech environment of Rahimiri, there were no synthetic fabrics. Wool came from sheep, cotton came from plants. There were no polyesters or latexes to be found. This dress, in particular, was made of silk. Real, spider-woven silk. It had been dyed the teal green of a cool river at midday. It flowed against my skin like the water it resembled, soft and beautiful and cool.

The skirt buttoned easily, but the straps of the bodice proved to be a struggle. I wrestled and fought with them until, a solid five minutes later, I got my arms through the correct holes and smoothed the bottom down as far as it would go.

Slowly, I lifted my head to the mirror.

The girl staring back at me looked startled. Patches of pink shone on her cheeks, not from surprise or any particular feminine affectation, but from the solar radiation I’d been soaking up in this strange, outdoor world. Her hair was wild, utterly out of control in the humidity.

I grimaced and reached for the brush on the dresser. Rahimiri hairstyles were utterly complex; there were braids and twists and loops galore. I’d yet to figure out how to copy even one of them, and somehow I doubted I ever would. I settled for braiding back two strands of my hair on either side of my face, and then looping them together at the back of my head.

I dropped my arms and studied myself again, tilting my head first one way and then the next. When I was younger, I’d often worn my hair this way. My mother had usually begun some sort of braid before her shift and, inevitably, been interrupted. I’d learned to live with the half-braids. A classmate had once told me they looked cool, and from that point, I’d refused to let my mother finish a braid, even when she did have time.

The hairstyle helped me recognize myself. The dress may have been foreign, but I was still me beneath the fancy wrappings. No amount of clothing could ever change that.

I smiled as I dabbed two little puffs of face powder onto my cheeks. Let Elidis do her worst. I was Callie Starwind. And I always would be.


End file.
